


Every Day

by Elf_Kid



Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: Angst, Christmas Angst, Dead Dogs, Depression, Dissociation, Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, Pining, Suicidal Thoughts, disturbing lack of fear for heights, falling, in the "brainbot origin story" sort of way, very angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-09-23 02:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20332213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elf_Kid/pseuds/Elf_Kid
Summary: Megamind chooses to stay alive.Every day, he chooses to live.





	1. Chapter 1

Megamind drove through the city, searching for the perfect site for his next glorious battle against Metro Man.

It’s harder than it sounds: the site has to fit into some very specific criteria. If he chose to fight inside a building it had to be the right _ kind _ of building. Contrary to what the movies would have you believe, finding a new abandoned warehouse or factory every other month is NOT an easy feat, even if you do live in a former factory-town with a waterfront. Finding a suitable outdoor battleground was even worse; most cities aren’t exactly littered with giant fields or arenas for supers to do battle in.

The city was a place of towering skyscrapers and crowded retail outlets; monuments of industry and capitalism. Megamind switched the car into visible-mode as he weaved his way into downtown traffic. One nice thing about being a Supervillain with a very recognizable ride: few people were willing to try and cut you off, and you could ignore the traffic laws with impunity.

Megamind was able to make good time on his reconnaissance mission. Within two hours, he had tracked down no less than five potential sites for his upcoming schemes: a downtown construction site, the parking-lot of a supermax theatre, two city parks, and a parking-garage scheduled for demolition.

_Finding such things_, he reflected, _was all about knowing what to look for and how to take opportunity._

Soon, one of these locations would be the scene of his glorious victory! He had such plans in the works; this next one would conclusively test whether or not Metro Man had any food allergies- and his ability to withstand scent-bombs. Megamind had high hopes for the possibilities of sensory overload for bringing down his super-sensed rival. He cackled as a better design for the fruit-launcher and potato-gun came to him. And how should he do the flour: primed for explosion, or ready to trap the hero in food-based paper-mache? Metrocity would _ cower _ at his… _Cornucopia of Carnage? Dinner of Destruction? Mega-Meal of Mayhem? Food-Fight of Ferocity?_ He’d have to discuss naming ideas with Minion.

He was near the waterfront now, getting close to the bridge, and a thought occurred to him. It was one he’d had before, and he didn’t particularly like it. In his mind’s eye, Megamind saw...

_ The bulbs of street-lights exploded. The metal twisted and bent into strange, broken shapes. _

Metal doesn’t just bend that way; there would have to be a significant amount of heat as well as force applied-

_ The windows in the skyscrapers shattered. The buildings looked as if they were made of stone and concrete, but they crumbled at the lightest touch. Rooftops fell inward, bits of masonry broke and tumbled. _

Things didn’t (_ wouldn’t _) just spontaneously fall apart. Metro City was better-made than that.

The world is sturdier than that.

_ A bank crumbled into dust and was blown away on the wind, leaving only a lonely, broken pillar and some empty steps to show where it had been. _

_ Everyone inside the buildings was dead and gone. There was nobody left- but if there was someone inside, then they would be trapped. _

This is a hypothetical scenario. Nothing terrible is happening.

_ T _ _ hey would be pinned down by fallen masonry and hidden from rescuers by broken wall. Some deaths were slow and painful, trapped, limbs crushed, scrabbling hands cut on broken glass as the bled and bled and bled… _

All hypothetical.

_ As they choked on the dust and the smoke, as they realized that there is not enough air in this little space where they had become trapped…. For others, the end would be quick, sudden, and merciful. _

This was entirely hypothetical. Metro City’s emergency services are really quite effective, and the brainbots are _ good _ at finding people in places where they shouldn’t be.

_ In the end, everyone is destined to die. _

Megamind shook his head as he past the bridge, heading back towards his own territory now.

Such thoughts, about destruction and mortality, were unproductive. Death was an unfortunate, inevitable reality; he could not allow himself to see it as the dominant feature of his destiny. Minion would be upset if he started down that path again.

He was destined for greatness. He was destined to destroy Metro Man and rule the city, and right now he needed to focus on… _focus on the next scheme._

He would be kidnapping Miss Ritchi. He should plan on what to say. 

* * *

Megamind drove past the tiny, fantastically authentic mexican restaurant that marked the edge of his territory. Here narrow homes with yards just a few paces long were crammed together scant inches apart. Here was the true face of industry, the slums, the old factories, the warehouses and the docks.

He switched the car into invisible-mode as he approached the Evil Lair. There could be no grand battles fought in this neighborhood; this was his. Here people paid protection money and were kept safe from cops, superheroes, and the more… unsavory criminals, so long as they followed the rules.

Megamind was not much one for law, but he believed in having rules. Rules kept the game of life… playable.

* * *

Back at the Lair, Megamind updated the idea-cloud. A ticket stub to represent the Cinemax parking lot was hung next to the city map he had on the wall. (_ Perhaps he could work some classic Hollywood themes into an upcoming plan? _)

He jotted down the idea and attached it to the ticket, then looked for a place to put the photo of the parking garage. (_ In front of the clock, near the dynamite station, of course, and put down the date of its scheduled demolition _). He made a note of the downtown construction site, then threw a couple darts at the map to mark the locations of the parks he’d scouted. 

There. That’s done.

_Now_, Megamind thought to himself, he should - _ everyone burns and everyone dies, and wouldn’t it be easier to shatter, to let himself fall and shatter _-

He should work on the Plan.

Megamind always felt better when he had something to work on.

It helped to be doing something with his hands.

* * *

He went to the lab, rolls out his latest blueprints on the drafting table, and got to work. There was always more work to do; always some project to keep despair at bay.

This would be his most delicious creation yet. As he put together his machine, Megamind weighed each piece in his hands, reassured himself that it was real. He tightened the bolts and tested the lock-mechanisms, checking and double-checking to make sure every part is in perfect alignment.

When Megamind made something, he made it sturdy. When Metro Man hit one of his creations and it didn’t immediately break, when it didn’t fall apart at the first or second blow, when it was still partially functional after even the tenth blow, you could tell that it was well-made. You could tell that it was real.

Other things were… harder to be certain of, sometimes. Other people were even more so. There were very few people that Megamind knew- really knew, with tangible evidence and bone-deep certainty- were real. 

_ The others are mindless drones, unthinking, uncaring, wrathful- _No.

Megamind knew that he himself existed. He could think, he could feel (he could feel pain), so he knew that he was real.

Likewise, he knew with bone-deep, soul-deep certainty that Minion was real. (_ Minion is the one person you can trust; Minion is the only one who will never leave _)

Metro Man also existed; Megamind had known him too long and received too many bruises and broken bones for him to doubt that. 

_ F _ _ ight, let the bruises come, let the pain be visible, just- _

(Some days, their fights were the only thing that made him feel alive.)

* * *

Other people were harder to be certain of. They seemed so-- _f__ragile hollow improbable fake imaginary make-believe; not really real; not really there; it's all in that big head of yours; it's all in your head--_

The existence of Roxanne Ritchi, for example, seemed extremely improbable.

How could such a stubborn, brilliantly intelligent (_ attractive _) woman be real? When he talked about his inventions, his schemes, she actually listened. She gave relevant feedback, always finding the single flaw in a carefully crafted plan and occasionally suggesting solutions. Her investigative reports were the most accurate, hard-hitting, relevant stories in Metro City. He knew- he’d checked. Miss Ritchi was a star reporter of unquestionable integrity: the best in her field.

_ It was only natural that she would choose the handsome Hero, the good one, the one who could give her everything. _

Megamind knew that Miss Ritchi was real.

She was real, and wonderful, and she would always be out of reach for him. She would always be out of reach, because she would never want to be with him, and he had rules.

Laws were meant to be broken, but you had to have rules. Rules kept the game of life playable. Rules kept you from going over the edge.

Megamind knew that he was real.

_ There was a reason all his most dangerous inventions were deployed when they were only halfway finished and barely tested. _

He knew that Minion was real.

_ There was a reason no one ever died, no matter how angry he felt, no matter how dark his despair became. _

He knew that Metro City was, in all probability, real. He acknowledged the existence of Metro Man.

_ There was a reason the city was still standing. _

Megamind knew that Roxanne Ritchi was real.

_ There was a reason every battle, every kidnapping was announced and broadcast on TV. There was a reason everything was well-documented, a reason why he was always held accountable. _

Megamind knew that certain things, certain people were real. And even when he didn’t quite believe that anything was real, he followed the rules. The rules he made assumed that everything, everything and everyone was real and that the big mistakes could _never_ be undone.

Laws were made to be broken, but Megamind believed in having rules.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megamind fixes up his bike.

Megamind stood at his work-table and took stock of what was left of the Flying Motorcycle (Mk. 1.07). It hadn’t survived it’s first deployment against Metro Man, of course, but the brainbots had successfully retrieved most of the parts, and he already had several ideas for how to improve the design for the Mk. 2. Perhaps this prototype hadn’t been a complete success, but idea was sound. 

No matter what Minion had to say about it, the idea was sound. 

The fins, both decorative and functional, had been snapped off (some of the alleyways he’d escaped through had been  _ extremely  _ narrow); the next version would have to be more streamline. 

Most of the skeleton was still intact, at least; he’d be able to reuse the parts, so long as he was careful to check everything for the less obvious sorts of damage first; he’d learned that lesson the hard way. He would rebuild, and this time, he’d make it even better _ .  _

_ He could do better than this; he had to do better. He wasn’t entirely self-destructive; he could improve. He would improve. The universe may be against him, but he would prove himself to be too stubborn and spiteful to die. _

He tapped at the fuel-tank, nodding to himself as it rang hollowly. The brainbots had already drained the leftover fuel then; that was good. Less likely to cause exciting problems that way. Further examination showed that the engine was also mostly intact; that was a stroke of luck, and proof-positive of the brilliance of his design. Granted, it had caught fire at one point, but it hadn’t exploded, and that was the important thing. 

Really, it had been the rocket-boosters that had been the main problem. Megamind was too used to designing missiles, and he hadn’t fully accounted for the fact that a vehicle one intended to ride probably shouldn’t, say, tilt and spin in mid-air when it was thrown off course. Minion may have a point about the whole ‘seat-belts’ thing; he’d have to remember to start thinking about possibly incorporating more safety features into his inventions. 

On the other hand, it wasn’t as if he’d even fallen that far in the first place. 

He’d only dropped about five, maybe seven stories before the brainbots caught him. He’d been twenty stories up at the start of the fall, so it wasn’t as if they didn’t have time. Really, he didn’t see what all the fuss was about; he’d been perfectly safe. It wasn’t like Megamind was afraid of heights.

_ Megamind didn’t think he knew how to be afraid of heights.  _

_ It wasn’t as if he’d flown so high that he couldn’t see the ground anymore. It wasn’t as if he’d built anything to fly high enough that he’d lose sight of the sky. The flying motorcycle didn’t even go that high, anyway; it couldn’t even ascend to the upper levels of the troposphere.  _ _ Sure, he had his share of flying machines, evil dirigibles and hover-crafts and the like, but it wasn’t as if he was travelling to fearsome heights.  _

_ It was never so high that it would take very long to fall. _

He ran a hand over scoured, burn-marked remain of the fender. Minion worried too much; the plan had gone almost flawlessly this time: the security system at that place was a joke, and they’d managed to escape with almost all of the payload. 

Really, the real crime was what was done to his paint-job. After all the time he’d spend painting the blue flames, adding on the details, all the time Minion spent waxing and polishing it to a shine, and Metro Man just  _ ruined _ it! He didn’t even  _ care _ about the skill and artistry that had gone into making this motorcycle the most fantastically gorgeous thing in the air!  ...Or maybe he did notice, and had been jealous of the fact that Megamind looked better on a flying motorcycle than Metro Man did flying under his own power. 

Roxanne had been impressed. 

He saw it on her face when he first became airborne-- it disappeared a moment later, of course, but it was  _ there _ .

_ “Positive Self-Talk,” that was the trick. Evil’s confidence knew no limits, and if he made a habit of reminding himself how fantastic and amazing he was, he’d be able to drown out the voice inside that said he was nothing, a pointless remnant, a failure, and insignificant spec destined to fall  _

_ and fall  _

_ and  _

_ f _ _ all  _

_ f _ _ orever  _

_ and  _

_ ever  _

_ and  _

_ ever _

_ … _

Really, having the brainbots constantly ready to catch him (_or Minion, or Roxanne or anything else important_) if he went into free-fall was brilliant foresight on his part!  The brainbots truly were among the most brilliant of his many stupendously amazing evil inventions! In fact…

Megamind grabbed a notepad and jotted down some notes for the design of the Flying Motorcycle (Mk. 2.0). Instead of rockets, it would utilize the same hover technology as the brainbots. The decorations, likewise, would be altered; spikes would be a much more practical, durable accent than a paint job. 

_ The spike-shielding would please Minion, at least. Might even convince him that the whole flying motorcycle thing isn’t an elaborate suicide attempt.  _

He tapped at the handlebars, which were almost entirely unscathed. He could very easily reuse them in the Mk. 2; all they really needed was a bit of polish. The front wheel also looked salvageable-- but if he was going to be using hover-tech in the next version, he wouldn’t have to worry so much about takeoff and landings, so wheels would be superfluous. It could go in the spare-parts room instead of his scrap heap, then; “waste not, want not,” as they say. 

He grabbed a wrench and started disassembling the wreck of a bike.

The idea was good (in the most Evil way possible, of course). The concept was sound. The next version would be better. It’s not as if he was suicidal after all, no matter what Minion sometimes implied that he suspected. 

_ He wasn’t suicidal anymore; he wasn’t. It wasn’t as if he went into freefall on purpose; it wasn’t as if he’d ever made a habit of it. He was doing  _ better _ now. _

It was just that Megamind was not afraid of heights. 

At all.

_ Rising, flying up and away, away from his parents, away from the people and the buildings and the ground… rising until the ground was far away, until he could see the ground, see the  _ world _ falling away, falling into a hole in existence from which there was no return… _

Megamind gripped the wrench tighter, loosening the lug-nut that attached to the wheel. He was in his workshop, working on a project. He was in his workshop, his feet were on solid, visible ground, and he was safe.

_ Hurtling through space, hurtling through the dark, infinite void, weightless and flying and falling and falling and falling…  _

_ Racing on forever through space, where direction is meaningless and light is rare, where there’s no difference between up or left or right or down, and so he is rushing down forever, and sometimes his escape-pod hit rocks on the way down; sometimes he could see the other escape-pod, the golden one from the Glaupunk Quadrant, falling beside or ahead of him,  _

_ and they were falling and falling and they had left the ground far, far away and there would never be an end to their falling… _

He'd landed. 

He and Minion had landed, and they were on the ground, and they were always close enough to the ground to be able to see it, and he was safe. He was safe in his workshop, using his amazing engineering skills and unparalleled intellect to take apart a prototype and remake it into an even more brilliant and impressive creation. Dwelling on the past served no purpose.

_ His parents had fallen away from him, his planet had fallen into a hole in space, into a hole in the universe itself, and he had fallen and fallen and kept on falling forever-- _

He’d landed safely.

_ \--and someday he would fall again; he was destined to fail, destined to fall, and there was no point in even trying to succeed, no point in even trying to rebuild when it would all eventually end in failure after failure after fall… _

Megamind removed the wheel, and set it aside. The lugnuts went into the coffee-can full of lugnuts, the screws were put in the screw-jar, and the little bolts went into a pile to be put with the similarly-sized bolts later. 

Everything in order, everything in its place.

Then he set to work removing the handle-bars, making sure that each and every one of the little parts went into its proper place, making sure to note what all had fallen off or been lost during his fight with Metro Man.

Eventually, the entire motorbike was disassembled, and Megamind was exhausted. 

He glanced at the angle of the light coming in from the dirty skylight above him, and realized it was already a little past seven. He needed to go stretch and wash up; it was very close to supper-time, and he tended to do better, both physically and emotionally speaking, when he didn’t skip meals. He was getting better at the whole “self-maintenance routines” thing. 

_ Really. He was. _

Besides, he’d promised Minion that they could do Karaoke Night tonight, and he was rather looking forward to it.  _ Falling and falling and-- _ He had a _ fantastic, amazing singing voice _ , after all, and Minion had promised to sing backup for him this time if he agreed to sing backup for Minion without cutting in on the main lyrics.

He was done working on the flying motorcycle for the day, and it was time to relax for the evening and have some fun. Karaoke Night was  _ fun _ .

If you didn’t make time for fun in your life, you could drive yourself insane.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megamind makes plans for Christmas time.

It was late July, and Megamind was sitting in jail, making plans for Christmas.

He didn’t normally work on Evil Plots this far in advance, really, but the December season was a very…  _ special _ … time of year, and he’d found that it was best to have a plan laid out in advance. That way, he wouldn’t have to force himself to be creative while also trying not to get sucked into the black vortex of despair that always invaded his mind around that time. 

Besides, this year Minion’s present was going to be really big, and there was a lot to do to make sure it would be ready on time.

Megamind sighed and, after a moment’s consideration, took off his shoes. The cell was warm enough, and besides, due to (self-imposed) safety regulations, he rarely got the luxury of walking around barefoot in the Evil Lair. When one works with heavy machinery, boots are a necessity as well as a fashion statement. When one is in prison, one may as well be comfortable while plotting another round in the battle of Good vs Evil.

So. Christmas. Christmas Stockings don’t lend themselves easily to weaponization, and he’d already unleashed the Tinsel Trees of Terror three years ago; another Christmas Tree-themed plot would seem derivative…. Candy-cane guns? Trapping various local landmarks in snowglobes? An army of gingerbread men, perhaps? 

_ Or, no, Nutcrackers! Even better! _

He chuckled quietly to himself, then let out a full-blown Evil Laugh. Laughter is important to maintaining emotional wellbeing, and besides, this plot is going to be fantastic! 

_ Huge, robotic nutcrackers with crisp, military-style uniforms and iron jaws strong enough to <strike>crush bone</strike> crumple metal! Sinister, thematically appropriate music! Oh, it would be glorious! _

There was, he knew, an abandoned candy-factory that would work very well for a base of operations. With a little paint, some structural reinforcement and a few booby-traps, of course. 

_ Ooh, this would be the perfect excuse to build the Dancing Attack Androids! _

He could keep them hidden in some enormous, brightly-wrapped gifts, and have them come out as a surprise if ( _ when _ ) Metro Man reached his base! Speaking of gifts, he really should start thinking about what to get everyone else….

Megamind stood up and began to pace. In a way, Minion’s gift was the easiest-- oh granted, it would take the longest to construct, but it was something that Minion was guaranteed to like. They’d been talking about it for years, after all, fantasizing and pouring over designs showing exactly how it would be  _ when we break out _ and then  _ when we get our feet under us, _ and _ when we find a better place, _ and _ after we win _ … He was certain that Minion would be pleased with his gift; he was certain that he could get it done, get it right, in time. Minion deserved that. December was hard on him too, after all, especially on the anniversary. 

_ Maybe this would help _ .

He made a few laps around the cell, absently turning the tv on as he went past. The background data might provide some inspiration.

Shopping for his uncles would be easy. For the ones still in prison, he’d send care-packages and gift-baskets full of cookies, cakes, fresh fruit, the good kind of tobacco, and cannolis from that place Uncle Anthony’s second cousin ran: the sorts of things that had featured in the very best Christmases of his childhood, when his uncles would gather around the Christmas-tree poster in the cafeteria to share cookies that their families had sent ( _ if anyone had sent anything that year _ ), and exchange small, discreetly-acquired gifts, _ back when he was young enough for people to think Christmas ought to be special to him _ …

Gifts for his non-incarcerated uncles would be much of the same, with the possible addition of non-disguised liquor, restaurant gift-cards, or theater tickets. He could talk it over with Minion once he got out; Minion always understood about making Christmas-related decisions far in advance, and he was so much better at keeping track of the details of which sorts of things specific people liked...

He paused in his pacing and stood still, staring at the door of his cell. He would need to find a gift for the Warden. A card wouldn’t do; he wasn’t a child anymore, and besides, the Warden might recognize his art style. In fact, any kind of homemade gift was out of the question for the Warden; he wouldn’t trust anything that Megamind created anymore.

_ He’d given the Warden plenty of reasons to be suspicious, after all… _

It would have to be something store-bought, then. The tv was running an ad for some kind of fancy watch; apparently they were supposed to be heirlooms in the making and the perfect overpriced gift for men in the Warden’s approximate demographic. That could make for a nice gift, but, 

_ the ad doesn’t mention how that kind of jewelry paints a target on your back, does it; they always stick with the “nice” bits when they’re trying to sell something, and let the buyer find out about those  _ fun _ little potentially-fatal flaws after the transaction is complete, and here they are trying to market some foolish little status-symbol and as a mark of affection and family; what a joke.… _

Megamind realized he was pacing back and forth rather quickly, his hands clenched into fists and and his body tense, and so he forced himself to pause for a moment and breathe. _ _

_ In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.  _

_ J _ _ ust breathe. _

He turned away from the door of the cell, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Perhaps he should just get a gift basket for the Warden as well; he knew the old man liked cookies. Or, maybe he could get a big box and fill it with  _ several  _ tins of different kinds of cookies, and then wrap the whole thing up with brightly-colored wrapping paper! After all, it was always nice to have something from “Santa Claus” to unwrap at Christmas time. And, in addition to the cookies, there was nothing to stop the Warden from keeping the fun metal tins that christmas-cookies so often came in!

_ The Warden had been the one to tell him the real truth about Santa Claus. He’d explained the story of St. Nicholas, patron saint of thieves and prisoners, and how his works of charity, compassion, and generosity were so well known that people to this day gave gifts in St. Nicholas’s name.  _

Megamind shook his head, trying to clear himself of this sudden wave of sentimentality. Too long and that train of thought, and he might even start imagining potential  _ regrets _ for himself! What nonsense! He was a supervillain. A career criminal. There’d been nothing but old arguments and burned bridges between him and the Warden for years. 

Megamind was a supervillain. 

Supervillains don’t care about people.

_ Warden had been the one to explain that the thing with the flying reindeer and the army of elvish toymakers at the north pole was fictional, and not part of a viable career plan. Megamind, at age 5, had been terribly disappointed, not to mention curious about the true origin of his annual present “from Santa Claus”...  _

The Warden would be getting a gift-wrapped box full of tins of assorted cookies on Christmas, and the little card would say that it was from Santa, and there would never be any concrete evidence proving otherwise. 

Supervillains aren’t sentimental, but absolutely anyone can give a gift in St. Nicholas’s name at Christmas time, and there's nothing suspicious or contradictory about that. 

On tv, the commercials had ended and a man was giving the weather report. Megamind sat down to watch. Apparently, Metro City was in the midst of a major heatwave. Not quite as bad as California, which was partially on fire, but hot enough to warrant reminders about the importance of good hydration, barbecues, and the lovely beaches of Lake Michigan in July. 

Hm. He’d have to keep an eye out, and possibly tighten security around the Evil Lair. They were conveniently close to the lake these days, and there was always a chance of some oddball picnicking on the lakeshore in the old industrial district and seeing something they shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had seen a brainbot and called the police, and Megamind found that is was better to be safe than sorry.

Megamind really, really didn’t want to move again. He and Minion had been living full-time in their current base of operations for almost three years now, and they’d really started to settle in. They’d been careful about camouflaging and keeping the car invisible; they’d been careful about arranging the Evil Plots in such a way as to give the impression of living light and moving often. He didn’t think Miss Ritchi was falling for the ruse, but based on the chatter on the police radio, the cops definitely were. 

This version of the Evil Lair was better than any of the previous ones had been. It was bigger, for one thing, with a high ceiling that provided storage space, room for the construction of giant robots, and enough space for the brainbots to fly around comfortably without getting bored and/or overcrowded nearly as easily as they had in some of the previous locations. It’s architecture was sturdy: strong factory walls with deep foundations and good, hard concrete floors, well-suited to the sinister, menacing qualities of a Supervillain’s Lair. 

_ It was worlds better than some of the places he’d been forced to use in the past. Really, you just can’t get the right ambiance in a defunct movie-rental establishment, and the merits of the off-season amusement park were extremely over-hyped. _

Most importantly, the current Evil Lair was close to the lake and had a large basement that Megamind was (almost) certain Minion didn’t know the true extent of. It was now completely off the grid; they’d successfully moved from not only generating their own electricity, to also piping in (and, of course, properly treating and filtering) their own water from the lake. It meant they no longer had to hide their own water usage in the shuffle and bills of half a dozen other adjacent businesses. It meant that Megamind finally had enough leeway to finally begin construction of The Pool.

On screen, the weatherman droned on about the weekly forecast. Megamind looked at the tv without truly seeing, his mind focused on more important things.

For years, The Pool had been a dream-project for him and Minion. They’d researched high-end aquariums and fancy swimming pools to learn about which systems for filtration and temperature-regulation worked, which didn’t, and what sort of maintenance would be required. 

On off-days, when they needed a break or a distraction or just something fun to work towards, he and Minion would talk about how to design the space: blueprints and models for the ideal shape and depth, debates on the merits of including artificial tides, sketches for how to decorate it, where to put the waterfall and whether it would be wiser to use real or fake plants…. The Pool was one of his and Minion’s favorite daydreams.

_ Megamind wasn’t the only one who lost his home-planet, and he REFUSED to be so selfish as to let Minion worry about him this year. They were stuck on this miserable, landlocked planet for the rest of their lives; the very LEAST he could do was to create a space for Minion to actually stretch his fins and enjoy himself. _

Sadly, what Megamind was building in the basement would  _ not _ be the fulfillment of all their dreams. There wasn’t enough space for the construction of the huge water-slide he’d wanted, for one thing, and it was unfortunately as-yet unsafe for them to have any real sunlight on The Pool. Still, he  _ was _ able to arrange for the construction of the center-fountain and the miniature waterfall, and the special full-spectrum imitation-sunlight lamps would make a passable substitute for the real thing. The work with the pipes and plumbing was close to completion, and soon it would be time to start sealing the inside and installing the decorations. 

Megamind would have to think of some kind of Evil Plot involving sand and pebbles soon; he was trying to hide his acquisition of supplies for The Pool among materials for other projects as much as possible. (He and Minion had talked extensively about having an elaborate, colorful tiled mosaic at the bottom of The Pool, but had been unable to agree on a particular design or set of images, and thus had eventually compromised on a more “natural” aesthetic.)

_ Sand-monsters, rock-monsters, flying projectiles, a desert-theme… a giant hourglass-deathtrap, slowly filling up with sand, like the one in that Disney movie? He’d have to account for air-circulation in the design; non-sand-related asphyxiation wouldn’t do here… An enclosed glass containment-unit of that sort would likely heat up very quickly under the summer sun; he’d have to account for that somehow-- doing it at night would grant cooler temperatures AND the opportunity for more Dramatic use of light and shadow in the presentation of the deathtrap… _

The weatherman droned on; it would be another ninety-three minutes before the actual news came on and Miss Ritchi gave her report. Megamind leaned back in his chair and started channel surfing. It was mostly commercials. More commercials. Exploding car. Hitchcock movie. Commercials. Telenovela. Commercials….

_ He’d need to get a gift for Roxanne Ritchi, as well. Something she’d like. A weapon, perhaps, for-- no, it would inevitably be used against him. A new book-- but what if she didn’t like it; what if she already owned it-- Chocolate cake? You can’t really go wrong with chocolate cake, right? The matter could require some research... _

Megamind switched the channel back to the telenovela, which was in the middle of some dramatic bit of explanatory dialogue. Apparently, the woman in the red dress had been cheating on the square-jawed man with his long lost outlaw step-brother ever since she found out that Square-Jaw’s wife was actually still alive. It was clearly a very complicated social life; typical for the genre, really. 

Megamind’s own social life was… significantly less complicated. Comparatively speaking. When he managed to make himself think objectively about the situation.

_ It’s just a game to her. It’s just a game, and you need to remember that. _

The game was that Roxanne Ritchi would flirt with him, and he would try to respond without making a fool of himself. Sometimes he would initiate the flirtation himself. Usually, Miss Ritchi would roll her eyes and either mock or ignore his attempts, but occasionally he’d somehow manage to make her blush, or even respond in kind.

_ It’s only a game and he needs to remember that, yes, but he can play along too.  _

_ He’ll play along and he’ll enjoy it for as long as it lasts. _

It really wasn’t that complicated, compared to what people got up to in the telenovelas. No long-lost relatives, no torrid secret affairs, no weddings with unexpected twists during and/or immediately before or after the ceremony…. Just two lifelong foes, and a gorgeous, brilliant woman who dated one and teased the other.

_ Just a man, hopelessly in love with a woman who was not only out of his league, but also in a committed relationship with his archenemy, and vocally opposed to everything he stands for, every single thing he does… _

She did flirt with him, though. 

Almost definitely flirting.  He was, at this point, reasonably certain that he couldn’t possibly be imagining or misreading signals. It would be inaccurate to say that there was nothing going on between them. There was flirtation, if nothing else, and maybe, if he played his cards right, someday there might be... more.

_ It’s nothing, it’s a game, it’s revenge-- against him or against Metro Man; it didn’t really matter which--  _

_ She doesn’t care; she’d never-- _

On screen, the woman in the red dress stormed out with her outlaw lover, leaving the square-jawed man alone on the balcony, the camera zooming in to show a single tear running down his stoically handsome face.

Then the show switched to commercials, and Megamind tried to turn his thoughts to other things. In prison, there wasn’t much to do  _ but _ think -- not since he lost certain privileges, such as access to the hallways, the toolbox, and the sketchbooks and writing-utensils he’d used to while away time and decorate his cell when he was younger and had never been caught with a shiv made out of paper-mache and the metal parts of No.2 pencils honed to a razor-blade.

Having said that, it was probably better to not dwell too long on his chances ( _ or lack thereof _ ) with Roxanne Ritchi. Best to focus his mind on other things, such as evil plans, or that new armor-making technique he read about, or whatever it was that was happening on tv. 

_ It’ll be another eighty-one minutes until her next report, anyway. _

On tv, the shaving-cream ad ended and an ad for the Animal Shelter started playing footage of tragically adorable puppy-dogs, with the voiceover telling him how desperate they were to find good homes for the little doggies.

_ He’d been away from the brainbots for over a week. Minion had probably finished most of the repairs by now, but Megamind still wanted to do a check-up and fine-tuning for all the one’s who’d been damaged in the most recent battle for control of the City.  _

Megamind knew that people from, say, the Humane Society would probably disapprove of the brainbots if they knew what they actually were, but he liked to think that he was a responsible mad scientist. He took good care of his creations; he never demanded that they take a risk he wasn’t willing to take himself. That was more than could be said of some pet-owners.

_ His own bruises were almost entirely gone by now; he’d be back to the Evil Lair soon. He’d see the brainbots soon. They could play fetch.  _

Megamind knew that, by collecting brainmatter and certain other genetic materials from dead dogs and using it as the basis for the brainbots’ core-processing units, there was a non-zero chance that he was technically performing necromancy on the canines. Evil scientist that he was, he had made his peace with that. If a brainbot that woke up in his lab for the first time was, in some intrinsic way, the same entity as 

_ the stray who’d been hit by a car; the elderly pet who’d been dumped miles from its suburban home; the dog that froze to death not far from the Evil Lair; the… _ . 

Well. Waking up in a glowing body with strong jaws and sharp teeth, a body in which it could fly and grab things and understand complex concepts and instructions, a body that didn’t feel pain, surrounded by a huge, friendly pack of others just like it, a pack that accepted it instantly… it wasn’t such a bad place to stop on the way to Doggy Heaven, was it? The brainbots had all their physical needs met; he made sure of that. They had each other, and they had him and Minion, and he made sure they got enough stimulus to maintain their mental/emotional well-being and….

Maybe he was selfish for making them, for keeping them, but he was a supervillain, a mad scientist and an evil genius, and Evil was allowed to be selfish. Cyborgs were better than plain robots in many respects, anyway. They were better at taking initiative and reacting to the unexpected, they had that ever-important blend of fight/flight instincts that were so hard to program into AI, and they were--

_ Safe and loyal and fun, and they retained the canine instinct for knowing how and when to offer comfort, and he needed them to catch him if he went into free-fall; needed them to stop him from going into free-fall… _

\--Important. The brainbots were extremely important to his villainous work, and he would not stop making them. He was a responsible mad scientist, at the very least; it wasn’t as if he went around making unnatural abominations and then abandoning them; he was no Dr. Frankenstein. 

If his creations were going to go on a destructive rampage he would be right there, directing and participating in it.

The commercial for the Animal Shelter ended with a picture of a particularly adorable mutt, overlayed with the shelter’s contact information and the words ADOPT A NEW BEST FRIEND TODAY across the bottom of the screen. 

Megamind couldn’t deny that canines, and menacing little cyborgs with canine components, made excellent companions; however, he felt that “best friend” was too strong a term. Yes, they had strong packbonding instincts, had adapted for positive inter-species relations, and were easy to entertain, but Megamind preferred to apply the term “friends” to entities with a more sophisticated grasp on language, entertainment, and (_not to put too much emphasis on the matter_) ethics. 

Dogs tend to have a broader definition of “_justifiable use of lethal force_” than most fully-sentient beings do, and as a man whose lifestyle often involved violence, Megamind had to account for that when building the brainbots. They were programmed to never use lethal force unless Megamind himself, or Minion, gave a direct order to the contrary. 

Also, the brainbots never seemed to fully appreciate the wonders of musical theater, which was neigh-unforgivable for someone who might otherwise be labelled as ‘friend’!

_ Fetch was fun of course, but it couldn’t hold a candle to theater in terms of entertainment value. _

There tended to be more… opportunities to make brainbots.... during the winter months than there were in the summer. It was something about the cold, the visibility-impairing weather, and a certain type of person who got the urge to upgrade worn-out pets in favor of younger, cuter models during the holiday seasons. 

It was, from Megamind’s perspective, a good thing. He always welcomed lab-projects in the winter months; it helped keep his mind focused on the here-and-now, as opposed  t he day his parents, Minion’s family, and every other living person on the planet, every living thing in the solar system, was sucked into a black hole…

According to the reckonings of Earth calendars, the anniversary of the complete and utter destruction of Megamind’s homeworld happened to fall on December 24th.

_ Megamind always fell apart inside in December. “Christmas Blues,” his uncles used to say. He’d fall apart again, and so he had to prepare, had to build enough armor and scaffolding around himself to catch him before he could fall too far, to hide his shattered pieces so that Minion wouldn’t worry…. _

He turned off the tv and began tapping out a tune on the bare armrest of his chair. The annual Christmas scheme was another grand distraction for that time of year, and the more he thought about it, the more he liked the Nutcracker idea. 

_ A Christmas-themed, instantly recognizable show that featured a sinister character who brings of human-sized mechanical dancers and a mysterious cursed doll with unusually strong jaws to a party… Yes, he could definitely work with that…. _

Megamind spun around in his chair, smiling wickedly to himself. An added bonus to this plan was the number of subtle and less-than-subtle jabs that could be made in the line of a  _ nut _ cracker theme. Captain Goody-goody would never admit to understanding the joke, of course, which made it even funnier…

However. There was also an element of risk involved in that line of attack, because Roxanne would also be there, and Miss Ritchi was definitely more than capable of turning such lines against him; she’d done it before, several times….

But, that was a concern for another time. It was July, and planning a conversation in your head for more than three days in advance was never a smart idea, because the other people never said the exact lines one expected them too. 

It was July. His injuries were almost entirely healed, and Minion and the brainbots were waiting for him at the Evil Lair. Soon, very soon, Megamind would escape this prison and have his revenge.

Meanwhile, there was plenty of time to work on his evil plans.

**Author's Note:**

> This was cathartic to write. There will be more to come.
> 
> Please comment/review. It feeds me and sooths me.


End file.
